


Seven Times and Then Forever

by Harley_Sunday



Category: Chris Evans - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24965200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harley_Sunday/pseuds/Harley_Sunday
Summary: Walking your dog you run into a handsome stranger who ends up helping you through tough times.
Relationships: Chris Evans x reader - Relationship
Kudos: 54





	Seven Times and Then Forever

The first time you see him it’s late Summer. The leaves on the trees of the forest you’re walking through slowly turning from green to yellow, the early morning air a little colder than you expect it to be, letting you know Fall is just around the corner. The pace you’re setting is brisk in an attempt to keep yourself warm, the faded red windbreaker you’re wearing not really doing anything against the cold. Walking faster also helps you to keep up with Scout, who’s walking a few feet in front of you, exploring every leaf and tree as if it’s the first time he’s setting foot here, even though you have been coming here every Sunday for the past twelve years. Scout’s off leash, and even though he’s never far away, looking back at you to see if you’re still following him every now and then, you make sure to keep an eye on him as well, mostly to discourage him to go after any squirrel he encounters. 

The trail you’re on loops back after about a mile or so, and you’re almost at the halfway point when you see Scout’s ears go up and then he stops, nose in the air as he sniffs around. A white and brown dog comes running at Scout from in between the trees on your left, letting out an excited yelp when he spots your dog, skidding to a halt just in front of him. You watch as the other dog stands completely still, letting Scout get to know him and you can tell by the way he’s submissive that he’s still a puppy. Keeping your distance, you let the two dogs get acquainted at their own pace, not too worried about it turning ugly because in the twelve years you’ve had Scout he’s never so much as growled at another dog. 

You see someone approaching then, his pace leisurely, hands tucked deep into the pockets of his dark brown leather jacket and his face half-hidden by the baseball cap he’s wearing. His whistle is short, but the other dog is at his feet instantly and you think you hear him whisper a quiet, “Good boy.” 

The man simply nods as he passes, and for a moment the lack of greeting keeps you rooted in your spot, because for some reason dog owners usually are instant best friends when they first meet each other, but then you see Scout starts walking again like nothing happened and so you just shrug and follow him, not giving the encounter too much thought. 

=x=x=

The second time you see him is a week later at almost the exact same time and place, the watery sun shining through the trees bringing a little warmth on this early Sunday morning. Scout barks when he spots the other dog and after a little sniff they’re running after each other through the trees, back to the trail, and around your legs. You let out a laugh at the way Scout is showing off, determined not to let the younger dog outrun him. You know all too well he’ll spend the rest of the day on his dog bed catching up on some much needed rest after this much exercise. 

The man catches up with you and this time he does look at you when he greets you with a quiet, “Hi.”

“Hey,” you reply with a polite smile, not really sure where to go from here. You try to make small talk, commenting on how the weather is nice for this time of year, but he doesn’t really participate in the conversation and so you stand together in silence, watching your dogs play together as if they’ve been doing so for years and years. You keep glancing at him, trying to get a better look at him, but he’s wearing that same Patriots cap again, with the collar of his jacket popped up high, and so the only thing you can make out is that he’s got a full beard and moustache which, for as far as you can tell, suit him. 

He clears his throat then, shoves his hands back in his pockets and says, “We should go.” before he whistles to get his dog’s attention. Like last week, the dog listens perfectly and is at his feet not even a second later. 

You just nod, “Ok,” and watch as they leave, the disappointment you’re feeling mirrored in Scout’s stance, his tail dropped low as he looks at you like he doesn’t quite understand why they had to go either. 

=x=x=

The third time you see him it’s pouring down and you’re quietly cursing your dog’s love of rain as you trudge up the muddy trail. Any other dog would opt to stay inside, but here you are, already knowing now that you’ll have a hard time getting Scout back into the car once you’re done with your walk. Your face feels numb by the time you reach the bend in the road that has become your unofficial meeting point for the past three weeks and you smile when you see both of them approach as if on cue.

The man seems to be in a better mood this time and jokes about how nice the weather is, making you laugh. He’s wearing the same cap again, but this time he’s pushed it a little higher and so you actually get to see his eyes when you talk to him about the awful New England weather, the intense blue of them throwing you off just enough to not be able to come up with anything else to talk about. You watch your dogs play in silence for a while and you feel a little disappointed when he lets you know it’s time for them to go. As he walks away he tells you he’ll “See you next time”, touching the visor of his cap as if he’s saluting you and you just smile, “Sure.”

=x=x=

The fourth time you see him it’s early-winter and it makes you wonder where he’s been since you last saw him. All the trees are bare now and there’s a thin layer of frost covering the ground, the leaves crunching as you walk over them with your trusted black lace up boots. It’s cold, too cold for your windbreaker anyway, and so you’re wearing your olive green parka, the fake fur trim around the hood shielding your face from the icy wind that’s blowing through the trees. 

You hear his dog’s yelp before you see him, and you can’t help but smile at the familiar sound, only now realizing that you’ve actually missed them on your Sunday walks these past couple of weeks. His dog greets you too this time and you scratch him behind his ear, whispering a quiet, “Hey, boy.”

“Dodger,” the man says from somewhere in front of you and you can’t help but smile when you look up at him before turning your attention back to his dog, “Hi, Dodger.” 

Dodger leans against your hand, letting you know he needs more cuddles and you can tell Scout’s getting jealous by the way he keeps circling you. The man seems to notice it too and crouches down, holding out his hand for Scout to sniff, scratching him under his chin once Scout’s licked his hand.

“Scout,” you offer in return and you watch as the man greets your dog with a smile before he stands back up and says, “Free,” in a loud voice, setting Dodger off running, Scout following close behind because he recognizes the command from his younger days. 

“How have you been?” you try, not sure if he’ll even answer.

He surprises you with a smile, “Better now that I’m back here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, not elaborating any further on his absence. 

You nod, deciding to take the conversation back to safer grounds, “How long have you had Dodger?” 

“A little over a year now,” he smiles, his gaze drifting to somewhere in the distance. “Got him from a shelter in Georgia-”

“Georgia?” you echo, a little curious.

He chuckles, “Yeah, I was there for work and I don’t know,” he shrugs, “I ended up in an animal shelter and I saw him there and he just didn’t belong there, you know?”

He looks at you then and so you nod, because you do know. It’s how you found Scout. 

“So I couldn’t not take him with me,”

“Hmm,” you agree. 

“What about you and Scout?” He nods towards where the two dogs are rolling around in the leaves, “What’s your story?”

“We go way back.” You turn towards him, “Got him when I moved into my first house, after college. We always had a dog growing up and I just couldn’t imagine my home without one.” You smile a sad smile then, “He’s old though, almost thirteen, not doing so well these days.”

“You wouldn’t say,” the man chuckles, watching Scout barking at Dodger excitedly, almost like he’s edging on the other dog to do something they’re not allowed to. 

“He’s just showing off,” you say with a shrug. “I’ll have to bribe him with some food to even go outside tonight, he’ll be that tired.” 

“It’s hard when they get older, isn’t it?”

You nod, swallowing back the lump that has suddenly formed in your throat, “Yeah.” 

The man looks at his watch then and curses quietly, “I have the worst timing ever, but we have to go or we’re going to be late for my mom’s Sunday breakfast.” He whistles, Dodger at his feet when he adds, “See you next week?”

“Definitely,” you agree.

“I’m Chris, by the way,” he says with a wicked grin. 

You offer your name in reply, smiling as you watch him walk away.

=x=x=

The fifth time you see him he’s brought a thermos of coffee because it’s cold and he claims you need something to keep you warm while Dodger and Scout play together. You tell him great minds must think alike when you hold up a paper bag with a couple of homemade blueberry muffins that go together with his vanilla flavoured coffee perfectly.

The conversation flows effortlessly this time and he tells you about all the trouble Dodger has gotten in while you relay your favorite moments with Scout, finishing your stories with the time he locked himself in your car with Gangsta’s Paradise blasting from the radio because he somehow figured out how to turn the volume all the way up while you ran around your house looking for your spare key. 

Chris is clutching his hand to his chest, laughing so hard that tears are rolling down his cheeks, “Best story ever.”

“Hmm,” you reply, but you can’t help but laugh too because it really is. 

Like every week, Chris has to take off too soon and you tease him by suggesting he should invite you to breakfast next week. 

He throws you a wink, “I’ll ask my mom what the rules of bringing non-family members to the family breakfast are, ok?”

“You do that,” you laugh. 

He waves goodbye, “See you next week!”

=x=x=

The sixth time you see him is the first Sunday of the new year and it’s still dark when you arrive at the parking at the edge of the forest. It’s cold too and you’re bundled up in your parka, scarf, hat and gloves and you wonder if he’ll even recognize you. Too lost in thoughts you’re not really paying attention as you walk up the trail and so you almost bump into him when you get to the meeting point, your eyes still glued to your feet when he greets you enthusiastically. You’ve been dreading this moment and until this morning you weren’t even sure you’d go here today, but then you saw the snow covered world outside your window and you knew Scout would be over the moon, because if there’s one thing he loved more than rain it was snow. 

And so here you are, clutching him close to your chest as you avoid Chris’ eyes, but you can feel the mood change when he sees what you’re holding and you hear him whisper a quiet, “Fuck.”

You bite your lip to keep yourself from crying, but fail miserably, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks as the sobs catch in your throat. You feel his arms wrap around you, Dodger whining at your feet as you let yourself cry for the first time since it happened. 

Chris keeps whispering, “Ssh,” over and over again, holding you tight as you work through this. 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been standing like this, but after a while you calm down enough for him to release you just a little, his hands on your arms as he looks at you, his own eyes a little glossed over as well, “I’m so, so sorry.” 

You nod, swallowing back a fresh set of tears, letting him pull you in another hug. 

Dodger keeps whining and so Chris lets you go, scratching the top of his dog’s head, “It’s ok, buddy,” but of course it’s not. You crouch down and scratch Dodger behind his ear, “He’s gone, boy.” Dodger licks your face, his nose nuzzling your neck then and you’re sure he understand exactly what is going on. 

You take a deep breath before you stand up again and face Chris, simply saying, “He was old,” as if that explains it all, but then again, it kind of does. The vet assured you several times that Scout died of old age and that he wasn’t feeling any pain when he went to sleep that last evening and you believe him. Doctor Linton knew your dog since he was a puppy and was one of Scout’s favorite humans, his tail always wagging when he went into the vet’s office. 

Chris nods slowly, “Yeah.”

“This was his favorite spot, you know, so I figured,” your voice catches in your throat then, another sob escaping you, but you continue anyway, “so I figured I might as well bring him here.” 

“God, I feel like an asshole for even asking this,” Chris starts, his voice low, “but do you want me here or-”

“Of course,” you sniffle, your gloved hand dabbing at your eyes. “I’m not even sure I can do this alone.”

He wraps his arm around your shoulder then and pulls you close, “I’m here.”

It takes you a little while to gather enough courage and strength to do what you set out to do but with Chris by your side and Dodger at your feet, you finally let go of Scout, whispering a quiet, “Free,” as you scatter his ashes. 

=x=x=

The seventh time you see him is a week later, because he’s made you promise to meet him again that next Sunday. The cold air hits you as you step out of the car and you grab your scarf from the passenger’s seat, looping it around twice before you get out. It feels weird not having Scout with you and for a moment you debate whether or not to just get back inside and head home, but then you hear Dodger’s familiar yelp from somewhere behind you and when you turn around you see Chris walking towards you from the other side of the parking lot. 

“Hi,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he pulls you into a hug. You throw your arms around his waist and hold on tight for a moment because well, it’s still hard and somehow you know that he gets it. A whine next to you has you turn your attention to Dodger, scratching him behind both ears this time as you greet him. 

Chris chuckles, “Guess he felt left out.” 

“Ah, there’s no need for that, buddy,” you say before pressing a kiss to Dodger’s head. It’s Chris who whines then and you look at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Now I feel left out,” he deadpans with a pout.

You sigh dramatically and stand on your toes, your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as you kiss his cheek, “Better now?”

“Yup,” he grins, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you nod slowly, letting him lead you towards the trail. “It still hurts though.”

He squeezes you a little tighter into him, “I’m here.” 

“I know,” 

He keeps the conversation going as you walk up the trail, asking about your childhood and telling you about his, but you both fall silent when you get to the spot where you left Scout behind last week. There’s fresh snow so it’s hard to tell where he is exactly but you crouch down anyway and let your fingers ghost over the surface, whispering a quiet, “Hi, boy.” 

Dodgers whines and you hear Chris tell him it’s ok, his voice barely above a whisper.

It starts to snow then and you smile through the tears that have formed in your eyes, because you’d like to believe it’s Scout’s way of agreeing with Chris, that it is ok. Without saying anything you stand up and take Chris’ hand, pulling him along the trail with you, Dodger walking just in front of you two.

If he’s surprised at your actions he doesn’t show it, instead giving your hand a gentle squeeze to let you know he’s there. You continue in silence until you get back to the parking where Chris walks you to your car. He lets go of your hand to fish a piece of paper out of his back pocket before he hands it to you with a shy smile, “That’s my mom’s address,” he rubs the back of his neck, “if you want we’d love to have you over for breakfast today, but if you’re not up for it-”

“I’d love to.” 

“Yeah?” He chuckles, “I have to warn you though, there’s a lot of us; brother, sisters, nieces, nephews, a dog.” 

Dodger barks as if he knows Chris is talking about him.

You smile, “I’ll be fine.”

=x=x=

The one hundred and thirty first time you see him he surprises you with breakfast in bed, wearing the navy blue suit you love so much and a mischievous grin. You’re not sure what to expect until you finish breakfast and he calls Dodger into the bedroom.

You frown when you see Dodger’s carrying some sort of rolled up note and you gently take it from him when he nuzzles his nose against your arm. Too caught up reading the note that says “Will you be my human too?”, you don’t see Chris kneeling down beside you and so you gasp when you realize what’s happening.

=x=x=

The six hundred and twentieth time you see him it’s early Fall a year later and he’s waiting for you at the altar, Dodger proudly by his side. 


End file.
